


Iron Man Actually

by NBWerewolfLover



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Biting, First Kiss, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 10:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17444879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NBWerewolfLover/pseuds/NBWerewolfLover
Summary: Peter decides to treat Stiles when they are alone at the loft.  And Stiles is just so confused!





	Iron Man Actually

Stiles busies himself with choosing a movie and setting it up.  Trying his best to hide just how awkward he is feeling...which makes no sense at all.

 

He and Peter is currently alone at the loft while the rest of the Pack has taken of to the preserve.  Which again, is totally normal. The two of then usually get left behind to do research or to just wait whilst the rest of the pack takes care of the threat of the week.

 

Stiles because, you know, squishy human here and Peter… well because it’s Peter...not to be trusted to have your back and well also because Peter isn’t really willing to risk his ass for the Pack...or “the idiots” as Peter refers to them.

 

So, this specific evening, where he is yet again alone with Peter in the loft, should be just another evening.

 

But...it’s not.  Something...something’s different.  The energy seem to be off...well not off exactly,  it’s more like there’s a nervous anticipation kind of buzz in the air.

 

Wich, yea, weird.

 

It may have something to do with the absence of the usual threat of death and destruction that is notably absent with this latest ‘problem’.

 

The pack is out in the preserve looking for a werebunny... Yea, I know right?  Ha!

 

So no danger of anybody dying.  Losing a finger, maybe. Just have to track down the bunny and capture it so they can relocate him or her.  Although not dangerous  _ per se _ , mister or miss fluffybutt has been very busy destroying gardens across the whole of Beacon Hills.

 

So maybe the absence of the usual gut turning nerves is the problem, making things weird?

 

Whatever the cause, Stiles is feeling more and more nervous and awkward by the minute, to the extent that his usual rambling is absent.

 

It’s the first time he and Peter have been totally alone without being distracted in some way.

Stiles for the first time realises how grateful he was for the distractions from his...okay to be honest distractions from his crush on Peter...okay maybe more than a crush...he suspects that he is more than a little in love with the older wolf.

 

So after queuing up the movies, which he spent a unnecessary long time doing, he plops down on the floor in front of the couch, knees pulled up, biting his thumb nail.

 

Peter’s busy with something in the kitchen.  He’s been in and out of there since Stiles arrived at the loft.  When the Pack left, Peter disappeared in there again after ordering Stiles to set up the movie, stating that he’ll be right back.

 

Finally Stiles hears Peter approaching, but resolutely keeps staring at the tv screen.

 

His mouth literally drops open as a plate appears in his line of sight.  A plate stacked high with curly fries!

 

‘Whaa…?’  Stiles stutters inteligente, before swallowing audibly.

‘What?’  he tries again.

 

Peter gracefully lowers himself onto the couch next to Stiles, knee bumping his shoulder, but doesn't answer, just takes a bite of one of his own fries.

 

‘Did you...did you make this yourself?’  Stiles is so confused right now. The question only urns him a raised eyebrow.

 

‘Oh’  he mumbles and looks down at his own plate in his lap.

‘Why?’  he can’t help but ask, because Peter is definitely not the curly fries type.  He is more the red wine and Coq Au Vin type.  _ The pretentious bastard.  _

 

Peter looks down at him with a frown.

‘Because you like it, you idiot.’  As if that explained everything.

Peter presses play on the movie and sits back, munching on another fry.

Stiles stares at him for another good five minutes before attempting to concentrate on the movie.  One of  _ his favourite movies dammit. _

 

Iron Man 3.

 

He’s already seen it obviously, more that once actually, so it fails to capture his attention as it should.  Meaning, he is painfully aware of Peter’s presence next to him the damn whole time. His knee bumping into his shoulder, his expensive cologne hanging in the air with his natural scent lingering underneath…

 

Stiles almost jumps out of his skin when fingers land on the back of his neck, lazily tracing random patterns there.  It should be weird. He should pull away and ask him what the hell he thinks he is doing, but… it feels nice. He’s dreamed of Peter’s touch, what it would feel like, for so long and this may be all that he ever gets to have.  So, he leans into it, enjoying it while he can. And besides, Peter probably doesn’t even realise he is doing it.

 

The warm fingers end up in the hair at the nape of his neck, twirling the strands around and around, tugging gently.

 

The movie is almost done when Peter speaks up for the first time, voice sounding casual, but Stiles can sense a certain tightness to it.

 

‘So...Iron Man?’  he asks carting his fingers through Stiles’ hair.  ‘Is he your favorite Superhero?’

‘Well...yea?  And Batman.’

Peter hums noncomentally, eyes narrowed consideringly at the screen.

 

Stiles thinks he has dropped the subject when he speaks up a few minutes later, the hand previously in his hair now moving, tracing the shell of his ear.

 

‘Sweetheart...do you have a thing for older men?’

 

Looking up, Peter is wearing the same mocking smirk he always uses on him, but Stiles gets the impression that he’s trying to play it cool, to maintain the creepy uncle persona, but...there is definitely something tight around his eyes.

 

And Stiles...well what the hell does he say to that?

All he can do is sputter, feeling himself flaming from his tips of his ears right down to his bellybutton, stomach tingling.

 

‘You do, don’t you, darling?’  Peter’s face is suddenly very serious.  Biting his bottom lip, he looks Stiles up and down for a few seconds, movie and surroundings clearly forgotten.

 

With a deep breath he pulls himself out of his musings, blue eyes going sharp.

 

‘Why don’t you  set up the next movie’  he says getting up and sauntering to the kitchen like the predator that he is.

 

Stiles can’t help but check out  jean clad ass until he is out of sight.  As soon as he is, Stiles drops his hot face into  his hands and groans, only to realises that Peter can hear him.

 

Fanning himself with his t-shirt he makes his way to the tv again.  The next movie he planned on watching was, well, Wolverine.  _ Older man. _

 

After the totally embarrassing conversation that just happened,  _ or didn't happen, _ he wavers and for a moment he contemplates just watching something else, a documentary?  An Inconvenient Truth, maybe? That should cool things down.  _ Ha!  No pun intended. _

 

‘Ugh!’  he grumbles.

No...no he isn’t going to  punish himself for nothing.

 

Wolverine it is.

 

Stiles, not wanting to give away how uncomfortable he is, takes his place in front of the couch again.

Whatever Peter is up to in the kitchen this time is making quite a lot of noise.  Sounds like a blender.

_ What is the Creeperwolf up to now? _

 

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out though.

 

‘Here you  go, darling.’

 

It’s a milkshake.  Stiles can only stare at the frosted glass in suddenly his hand.  A honest to goodness milkshake glass.  _ Of cause. _

 

‘Well, go on, don’t just stare at it.  Take a sip.’

 

When he does there isn’t a thing he can do to suppress the moan from escaping.  It’s peanut butter. Ooh! And look there’s Reese's Peanut Butter cups crushed and sprinkled on top.  He has died and gone to heaven. Everything around him fades away. How long he was caught up in the salty, sweet, cold liquid on his tongue, coating the roof of his mouth deliciously, sliding down his throat like cool silk, he doesn't know.   _ What?  He likes milkshakes okay?  And peanut butter and chocolate even more! _

 

He is pulled out of his moment of bliss, by a broad warm hand tangling in his hair and pulling lightly.

 

‘So,  how is it?  Good?’

 

Stiles can only nod, avoiding eye contact by looking somewhere over Peter’s shoulder, cheeks getting more and more blotchy by the second.

 

Peter’s face is achingly soft, little wrinkles forming around his blue eyes, a fond smile pulling at his lips.

 

‘May I have a taste?’  he asks softly, leaning forward a fraction.

 

Stiles nods again, still looking vaguely over Peter’s shoulder, holding out the glass.

His heart is literally going a mile a minute, and Peter is only looking at him, talking about milkshakes of all things.

 

And then his mind screeches to a hult, his whole being freezing up.

 

Because...because Peters lips are ghosting over his, burning hot against his chilly ones.

And Oh!  Oh, crap, that is Peters tongue sweeping across the seam of his lips, from one corner of his mouth to the other, achingly slow.

 

Before Stiles can react in any way though, Peter pulls back, but doesn't go far, leaving only a few inches between their faces.

 

Peter’s eyes look so vulnerable as they roam across his face, searching for something.   _ Rejection? _ _ Disgust? _

 

Looking into those beautiful eyes... _ so soft… _ his brain finally comes on line again.  Going from zero to a hundred miles an hour instantly.

 

His first thought is that this is one of Peter's stunts to get under his skin and piss off Scott.  Anger and hurt well up almost instantly. He waits for the sarcastic, mocking comments that always follow Peter's jabs.  Jabs filled with innuendo and sometimes outright perviness. Stiles thinks with dread that he won't be able to just shake it off this time, cover the painful clenching of his heart with a snarky comment.  This time he might just cry.

 

But looking into Peter's blue eyes, the usual flintiness tempered by something like hope and also the fear of rejection, Stiles thinks… Fuck it, he's going to take a chance on Peter…on  _ them.   _ With that thought he leans forward slowly and gently bump their noses together.  Peter's whole body jolts, a distinctive non-human whine tumbling from his parted lips.

 

‘Sweetheart’ be breathes against Stiles’ lips.

‘Creeperwolf’ Stiles answers, more emotion slipping into that one word than he intended.

Stiles doesn’t know who made the next move, maybe both of them, but their mouths find each other again, still chaist, but much more firmly than before.  Lips moving sensually against each other, teeth,  _ fangs,  _ nipping.

 

Chaste  as it is, it's the best kiss either of them have ever had.  Not that stiles has much experience, with kissing or anything else for that matter.  Inexperienced or not, judging by the way the heat is pooling low in his belly and the blood is all but singing in his veins, this is a mindblowing kiss by any standard.

 

Peter eventually pulls back, panting, thumb running over Stiles’s cheek and jaw in a soft caress, almost reverently.

 

Stiles sucks in a breath when Peter’s caressing fingers find their way under his jaw.

 

And...whoa!  That is a claw.

 

In reminiscence of a night long ago on a lacrosse field, Peter urges him to stand up with a claw under his chin.

And yea, if he wasn’t already hard, he’s definitely now.   _ Fuck, that’s hot! _

 

‘Come here, sweet boy.’

 

Stiles’ heart melts just a little at the endearment.  He suspects Peter expects him to sit next to him on the couch, but let’s be real now, this is Stiles we are talking about and when he decides to go for something, he  _ Goes  _ for it.  No half measures.

 

So he takes one long look at Peter and promptly climbs into his lap, knees on each side of his thighs, straddling him.

 

Peter’s breath hitches, eyes flashing bright blue.

 

He hesitantly places his hands on Peter’s broad shoulders, suddenly shy, biting his lip, looking down.

Two broad, warm hand cup his face, forcing him to look up.

 

‘Baby...Stiles...You do know that you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, right?  You can say no…’

 

And that’s just…

 

Peter doesn't get to finish his sentence before Stiles is attacking his lips, plastering every inch of himself against Peter, arms around his thick neck.

 

It takes Peter a few seconds to get over the shock before his arms circle Stiles in a bruising hold.

When Peter prods the seam of his lips, asking for entrance, he gives it freely, opening his mouth.  Peter’s tongue slips into his mouth, aggressive, dominant as expected, relentlessly exploring every inch of Stiles’ mouth, tongue massaging Stiles’.

 

It’s downright filthy.

 

Stiles moans into Peter’s mouth without even realising.  His hips begin to rock against Peter’s. he is so hard it hurts, his erection pressing painfully against the zipper of his jeans.  Stiles isn’t embarrassed thought, because pressed against his is Peter’s own hardon.

 

Somewhere along the way they both lose their shirts, hands roaming naked skin.

 

Unconsciously Stiles begin a litany of _pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease_ pressed into warm mouth and skin.

 

When they eventually come up for air.  Stiles can’t help the “Please, Peter” he lets out on a moan.

 

Pressing his forehead against Stiles’, breathing heavily, he asks, tone just as desperate with longing, ‘What do you need, baby?’

All stiles can do is whine, bucking his hips forward, eliciting a moan from both of them.

 

‘Shhh, it’s okay, sweet boy.  I’ll take care of you’ Peter purrs into his ear, hand already unbuttoning his pants.  Stiles lets out a sigh of relief when his zipper gets pulled down, easing the pressure on his poor straining cock.

 

Peter slips his hand into stiles’ underwear, wrapping his hand firmly around Stiles’ throbbing length.  Stiles isn’t happy though, fumbling with Peter’s zipper.

 

‘Want...want…’

 

Peter is all too eager to comply, unbuttoning his pants, lifting his hips and pulling down his pants and underwear in one go.  He doesn’t waste time, wrapping both of them in a tight grip and giving a slow pull.

 

‘Mine’ growled around fangs.

‘Yours’  Sincerity shining in whiskey eyes.

 

Stiles lets out a low moan, stuffing his face in Peter’s neck.

 

Stiles know he isn’t going to last long under Peter’s firm strokes, feeling Peter’s cock against his, no chance in hell.

 

He is so close.  When Peter rubs his thumb over his leaking head, simultaneously biting into his neck, he throws his head back and screams his release to high heaven.  Coming and coming, vaguely feeling Peter coming too. 

 

When he finally comes back to himself, he slumps forward, resting his head in the crook of Peter’s shoulder.

 

At that moment the loft door gets thrown open with a loud clang.

 

‘What?  What the hell, dude?  What happened?’ Pulling an adorably confused puppy face, ‘Is it sexpollen?’ Scott asks, scandalised.

 

Stiles slowly lifts his head from Peter’s shoulder, squinting at the loft door with one eye open, where the whole pack is standing in shocked silence.

 

Stiles gives a groan, closing his eyes again.

 

‘Iron Man actually’  he manages, before dropping his head back on Peter’s shoulder.

 

Peter turns his head to look at them over his shoulder, eyes shining, face murderous.

 

‘Can all of you take your fucking eyes off of my mate’  he growls.

‘Peter, this is my…’  Derek tries, scowling, folding his arms.

‘Get out!’  Peter roars, sending all of them scrambling for the door.

 

‘Mate, hu?’  they hear Stiles ask, voice ecstatic, as they take the stairs down, two at a time.

 

The last thing they hear is a high pitched squeal and giggling.

They don’t come back to the loft for the next two days.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hey!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> 💜💜💜


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